


Troubed Flames

by spotty_lion



Series: Final Fantasy Shenanigans [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 20:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spotty_lion/pseuds/spotty_lion
Summary: He was different. And when man looked upon difference, he would feel only fear.
Series: Final Fantasy Shenanigans [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1135331
Kudos: 4





	Troubed Flames

People had always told him he was trouble. A child with a dragon in his eyes, a dragon that had fire drooling from its jaw, fire the colour of resolve and passion. 

And that dragon was  _ his _ .

No one was surprised that his dragon would roll its eyes and scoff its flames at their traditions. Traditions older than time itself. Traditions flooded with importance. And despite this, his poisonous flame spat and burned them.

No ill will was spread to their queen, of that they were thankful. But his deeds were not inspired by her image, and his thoughts were not steeped with the need to make her happy, to impress her. 

He was different.

And when man looked upon difference, he would feel only fear.

So he and his dragon were turned away. 

They flew to far away places, their flame kept firmly in their throats, the heat the reason they had been pushed away. They took food where they could, sheltered when they could afford, tried desperately to find acceptance. But even the blind could see the dimming scales. Even the deaf could hear the whispering roar.

The dragon was fading.

Despite his best efforts, the wounds that had cut into the beast’s flesh were becoming too much. The bruises that blossomed under the scales; the clawed foot that curled in limping pain, and the wings that had been bent out of shape, all took their toll. Wounds that had come from sharp words and hard slaps, from denial and refusal.

It was as they slept in the forest close to a village of men and women with pointed ears that the dragon breathed its last. 

He woke up with an ice-cold emptiness that scalded his insides.

The young elezen; the one that brought him food when he needed it; the one that he protected from others of her kind that wanted only to harm her; the one that took his hand and brought him back to a warm house with an even warmer mother and father, was the one that made him look up to see that, even without the dragon at his side, he was brave enough to make it out alive.

He found a treasure that day.

A treasure that was not made from gold or silver. A treasure that could not be sold for any amount of coin. A treasure that was worthless to all but him.

He found another with a dragon in her eyes. A dragon the colour of kindness and beauty; a dragon with wings that beat with courage and pride. It reminded him of a beast that he had once known.

He put it down to his yearning imagination when he felt his heart growl between a drooling jaw, when his lungs burned with poisoned flame. He knew, deep down, that he had not felt rough scales under his fingertips. And he also knew that his ears had not twitched at the sound of a bellowing roar.

His dragon would not return, of that he was certain.

But he could, at least, teach the young how to care, how to preserve, how to  _ burn _ . He could teach her how to bathe in the flames without her skin rotting. 

If only he could have heeded his own words.

He moved on eventually, leaving behind a child that burned ever brighter than before. And perhaps he did too.

He ignored the heavy footsteps beside him, refusing to give into his idle fantasy of the dead breathing once more.

Until he met a woman with blood in her eyes and the raven’s feather in her hair.

They met on the battlefield, steel and arcane clashing with flaming spit and heavy claws. Their eyes were drawn to each other, sun and glade meeting with ruby and fire, and they both felt the start of something bigger.

She extended an invitation of union. He folded his arms and frowned around cautious fangs. She told him to think on it. He grunted and could think of little else.

And then, six years later, he stood at her side on another world, watching a man crumble into dust. Around them stood the rest of their group, his friends. Amongst them stood a man whose heart beat with his. 

And behind them stood a dragon who glowed with might. A dragon whose wounds had healed, whose wings had raised, whose roar swelled in its throat with vigour anew.

A dragon whose heart had started beating again after many years of staying silent.

Jack’s was the story of how a troubled cub from a lonely island grew to roar with the might of a lion.

Jack’s was the story of how a lone silver flame exploded to burn the world around him with golden ash that healed the land of its ailments and bruises.

Jack’s was the story of a man reborn.

Jack’s was the story of rekindling fire.


End file.
